


A HELL OF EXODUS

by Mazifer (ChestOfStories)



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Drama, F/M, Friendship/Love, Sexual Content, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-30
Updated: 2016-09-10
Packaged: 2018-06-05 12:14:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6704185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChestOfStories/pseuds/Mazifer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lucifer and Mazikeen decide to take an unauthorized vacation on Earth, trusting they're prepared for whatever the human world can throw at them. The ride happens to be bumpier than either expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Landing

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place before the show even begins.

It was never the biggest of pleasures descending to Earth. It's nothing like the human books and stories say – heavenly chanting, light and bliss. It certainly is what people see and what they pass on to generations to come. But there hardly has been a soul to tell this story from a different "angle".

It's pain. Pain that doesn't compare to human stubbed toe or cramps. It goes beyond what a mortal mind can muster. It spreads through all the layers of your being, translucent and radiant like light itself. It is a sacrifice, and it feels like one. Every particle of you craves to go back, and it takes all of your will to finish the journey you've started.

It takes a sacrifice to give an evolving world something to tell their kids about.

It takes a grander sacrifice when there is no higher order to help you "fall".

Their little earlier drop-bys to arrange for their final arrival had nothing on this last one. It was indeed a full-blown Fall From Grace in the best tradition of Devil's banishment legends people of the evolving worlds held on to. The ascendant mortals had been underestimating the power of intention for eons of time, but entities like them knew it made all the difference. With intention to return back to their Home Realms, it had never "hurt" as much as this time when he knew he wasn't going back. It indeed made all the difference. Aside from the excitement and thrill he had been waiting and yearning for, it came with a grand feeling of sacrifice that racked through his being and left him breathless and broken, gasping for air as his fingers clawed at the cold sand. The ocean sloshed loudly; the sudden drop of energy was disorienting. It was like trying out gravity after a year in outer space without it.

Lucifer lay still for a while, adjusting, fingers combing through sand, making quiet sounds. The growing moon hung overhead casting silver glitter on the ocean surface. Eventually, he pulled himself up with effort and sat back on his haunches, looking around like a drunk man. Maze was sitting a couple feet away, watching him, giving him time.

They'd been maneuvering this excursion for centuries—fall she had taken more than once in order to test the boundaries of security and make sure everything would be set for his arrival—but nothing prepared her for the agony of the final descent. Pain so intense it was as if the gate was rejecting the very idea that they wouldn't be making this a round trip—not for a few years at least, weeks if she was lucky—and was trying to destroy her.

She lost track of time, lost control of all her senses, and hit the sand with a crushing blow that left her breathless. Everything ached.

Unlike other realms they'd visited—and she was forced to be on high alert at all times—earth appeared to hold no such threat. And why would it, given the beings they trustingly shuffled back down in hordes and stuffed into a collection of obliging shells in need of life? Shells they overstepped in their passage and created themselves. Shaking off the residual pulse of suffering, she brushed the wet sand off her knees and climbed to her feet. She had planned everything: the time they would leave, the rotation of the sentinels that made sure things went swimmingly, and time of day they'd land. Which was at night.

She smiled and breathed in deep, reveling in her success. "Nice night for a visit," she noted, looking up at the stars. After sparing Lucifer some time to overcome his own hurts and amendments, she ambled to his side and extended a hand to help him up off the sand. Her naked silhouette outlined by moonlight; her perfect teeth glistened as she smiled. "It's all ready and waiting for us. Time to claim our spoils."

He looked at the white tower ahead; the moon glowing from glassy windows like magical jewels. Home, he reflected with a bit of wonder. Would it become it now? Would it be easier or harder than he envisioned? He had always been quite outstanding at envisioning and foreseeing. Would it work here?

He didn't look as eager as Maze'd imagined he'd be and for a second, the expression on his face made her think he'd made a mistake and wanted to return home.

He swallowed hard as doubts rolled over him like a cold wave of the ocean behind him. He could still feel the pull, the urge to turn back. He could swear there was a wide door behind him if he dared to look over his shoulder, open and inviting, with divine light streaming all over his new body's back. All the Grace left behind, burning and luring at the same time.

_I can't do this. Not like that. I won't be able to go through with it like that._

He looked up at Maze still holding her hand out to him, her fingers flexing in impatient invitation.

"Before we do, I need you to do me the biggest favor I've ever asked of you," he said, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end and her fleeting sense of achievement scatter. How could she outdo helping him experience a life he'd only ever viewed from a prior distance? How would anything outdo what had already been done?

She lowered her hand slowly, her smile dimming in favor of wariness when he drew a deeper breath and spread his wings. A gust of breeze shuffled them lightly. She straightened up to get a better look at him, memorized by the expanse of his wings as he opened them to their full magnificence, dreading what she sensed was to come.

He saw a flare of rapture in Maze's eyes and it was all the confirmation of his being right he needed.

"I need you to cut them off."

The beseeching look in his eyes subduing her mounting renunciation, filling her with an indescribable feeling of powerlessness. She didn't want to do this.

Shock robbed Maze of voice for a long moment. He waited, holding his breath.

"Are you sure that's what you want?" she asked, barely regaining her composure. She was astonished she possessed the ability to speak given how demoralizing the words tasted. Like humoring the notion would hold far greater ramifications than their unsanctioned descend.

Another comber of doubts and inner torment, more insisting this time, ran through him, making him shiver and wince. Of course he wasn't sure – he wasn't sure of anything anymore – and that was the point. He was being torn apart from the inside while the very symbol of divinity clung to him. There was no place for him here with it attached.

"Yes," he breathed, not sounding as certain but trying his best to tune into that angelic gift of persuasion he had been famous and honored for in all eternity. He looked at Maze, trying to see past the shock and denial radiating off her face and posture, for it was all and much, much more what he was feeling himself.

She didn't move, didn't dare to breathe.

He spread his arms briefly, mocking the wings still spread behind his back, glowing in the dark of a dense three-dimensional world with all their divine magnificence.

"Look at me. How do you propose I blend in? How can I walk among mortals without being noticed and worshipped wherever I go?"

In all the time Maze spent formulating possible scenarios – where to go, where they'd sleep, what to do if they were spotted by any wandering humans and how they'd endure their first night on earth – defilement of everything he was had never crossed her mind. She wasn't prepared.

"How can I ever experience anything of what their journey is like when all I am is a walking beacon for human fanatics as well as heavenly forces to track me down and snatch us back? There is only one way I can get what I came here for. Only one."

To the logical part of her mind that said they were still on the run, it made sense. Another refused to accept it, rejecting the notion as if it was a sentence to death.

"Maze, we've gotten so far. Don't abandon me now. Please. Forgive me for asking this of you – I know how unspeakable this demand is – but I don't have much choice. I can't do this myself."

He hooked a finger through the ring on one of her hellish daggers lying in the sand not far from him and lifted it to her, a plea in his eyes.

In spite of his pleading, she made no immediate move to take the dagger, eyeing it as if it were a hissing serpent, repulsed by its existence and the wake of bereavement that shrouded its glistening blade. On autopilot, she adhered to his entreaty. Twirling the dagger around her index finger to test its weight as if for the first time, incapable of brushing off the overwhelming rush of disquiet and how heavy-handed she felt. How dreadfully immoral.

When he tore his eyes off Maze and lowered them to the dark sand beneath his knees, sharply aware of her walking around him, slow as if in deep and heavy sleep, he realized how tight his chest felt. He was shaking, and couldn't explain the turmoil of mixed up emotions attacking him.

Something hot burned behind her eyes as she reached out to timidly brush a hand against the feathery texture. In their world, his wings had never been this dense, this welcome or adoring to the touch – no more than an unadulterated exhibition of his powerful essence. Shuddering faintly she began to follow the curve of the wing to where it attached against his back, memorizing the feel of it beneath my palm as if I were a mourning lover. Raising the blade, she knew that if she didn't do it now, if she didn't do as he so desperately begged her to – she never would.

He almost groaned when he felt Maze's hand on them. The touch shot through like a jolt of lightning. No one ever touched them before. He had never been touched like this before. The bedazzlement of new sensations filled him with a sudden clash of a wave against a rock, disorienting and stunning. He wanted to close his eyes and savor it, savor them all, bottle them up and never forget. He wanted her touch to continue forever.

Inhaling deeply, she secured a hand around his wing—gentle at first—and pressed the blade to his skin, cutting through the soft flesh and around the dense bone like the skilled butcher she was. Unaware of the water—sprayed from what I thought to be the nearby ocean—splashing against my hands and arms as I peeled the wings from his back, the waves drowned out by his screams.

It was the Death itself. Something that never existed for the likes of them. The Falling was nothing compared to the raging, scorching agony that followed the most pleasurable sensation of a first physical contact. Stinging tears burst from his eyes as Lucifer squeezed them, clawing at the sand, grasping at it as if it were to save him from all the pain of all worlds that had ever perished in flames and suffering. His own screams deafened me and sounded beastly, monstrous, inhuman. The wrenching, insatiable pain of biblical proportions seeped into every crack, fiber and cell of his being, filling it, exploding in new blinding colors and adding new, sharper teeth with every jerk of the blade in Maze's hand.

It went on forever.

And then, darkness he'd never known drowned the world out.

Lucifer gave in to oblivion as she started in on the last sliver of flesh, unconsciously ripping himself from his wings like a staggering drunkard, leaving her to hold on to the majestic extensions like a morbid trophy. For what felt like an eternity, she did nothing, humbly holding them, staring down at his bleeding and broken back. The dagger slipped from her bloodied grip, spurring her back into action as she moved to carefully set the wings down on the sand away from the lapping waves and any more abuse. Vowing to wash them clear of the blood that stained the pristinely colored feathers. Using the back of her hand, she wiped the water from her cheeks, blinking a few times to clear her surprisingly blurry vision and focus. Lucifer needed her – now more than ever. His screams would have alerted someone. Soldiers she'd learned were regarded as the authorities and acted like the very sentinels that guarded the gate. They didn't have much time.

Avoiding the wounds on his back, Maze took a hold of his shoulders and rolled him over to get a better look at his face, taking into account how pained he looked, blemishes she now knew extended beyond their exterior manifestation. He was pale, sickly looking, and war torn. This would take some time to recover from. For both of them.

Sliding her hands beneath his unconscious body, she lifted him off the sand and cradled him in her arms, carrying him toward the secluded parking lot and the car she expected was awaiting them.

Gratefully, when she got there, the man inadequately named Martin 'buzz saw' Jeffery, self-explained fixer-upper, was leaning against the hood, a twig pinched between his lips, smoke roiling from his nostrils like a smoldering demon. He referred to them as cigarettes and was never without them. Maze didn't see the appeal and hadn't cared to question him on the need while they brokered their deal.

"What is this?" he asked sharply, pushing away from the car, making her wince as he gestured to Lucifer's naked body. "You said nothing about making me an accessory to kidnapping. Or murder," he accused, moving to open the backdoor. She stepped aside to clear the door and eased Lucifer onto the backseat, moving around to the other side to carefully take a hold of his shoulders and drag him into place. It wouldn't be comfortable – not in the long run – but their temporary home was close, and Maze believed he'd be out for a while.

"And you won't be," she said, peering over the top of Lucifer's head, tenderly brushing his face clear of the sand that clung to it.

Buzzsaw attempted a better look at Lucifer, making her growl low and slam the door shut. Moving to the other side, she yanked the human from the back of the vehicle by his shirt. He stumbled, cursing as he did, but remained on his feet.

"He needs rest," she said as per-explanation, unapologetic for her actions, being more careful with the door the second time round. She closed it, securing Lucifer from further inspection. "I have one more thing to collect and then we're out of here."

Maze didn't quite know her way around the city and trusted their arranged payment would be enough to keep the man honest. She prepared to head back to the beach, confident their tour guide wouldn't be stupid enough to do anything to Lucifer in her absence.

Not unless he planned to meet his maker sooner rather than later.

"Wait," he started, cautious in his address. "Shouldn't you—" His eyes involuntarily scanned her body, lingering too long in certain areas, drawing her attention to her nakedness. "Pretty thing like you running around without a stitch on is only asking for trouble."

"Right," she agreed, making no move to return to his side. The wings were more important than some form of her ostensible modesty. "You have our wears?"

"Your clothes?" he repeated, trying to gauge whether or not they were on the same page, and nodded. "Borrowed them from my brother and his wife. She's about your size. Little wider round the hips, breasts a little more—"

Maze glared, feeling annoyed by his need to go into such heavy detail. He appeared to heed the warning, cutting short his description to place a fresh cigarette between his lips. Taking that as her cue, she continued on her way, quite in retracing her steps back to Lucifer's sullied wings. /

* * *

Buzzsaw's eyes perilously flicked between the road ahead and the wings perched in the back of the vehicle, his lips parted as if were trying to breathe them in, lost in their overpowering influence. Maze doubted she would ever get over what she'd done – what he'd asked her to do – but Lucifer had been right. With this majesty on his back, he wouldn't have been able to blend in and live the full experience of human life. The influential populace wouldn't have allowed it. Extending an index finger to the human male's cheek, she forced him to face forward, to focus on where he was taking them before he got lost. He shook her off, arching his brows in mute query, offended by her guidance.

"You want to get paid, don't you?"

"What are they?" he asked before he could control his need.

"What do they look like?" she countered, slipping the bright yellow fabric over her head, monstrosity he'd referred to as a summer dress and matched with black boots. Lucifer's clothes served better. Dark jeans, a button up shirt and a pair of lace up sneakers. Crossing one leg over the other, Maze smoothed the fabric around her legs, fingers brushing the top of the sticky blade tucked in her boot.

"Divinity."

She knew there was more, could see the expression of absolute bliss and the inability to describe it. She would have to fix this, too, silence his newborn religion before he alerted anyone else.

Approaching the familiar tower, she leaned forward, elbows resting on her knee to get a decent look of the many wideset windows that swathed the enormous building. She half expected it to be buried under ashes, to have more troubles rain down on her and add to the struggle of today's entry. But there it was, sparkling as lights bounced off the reflective glass, beckoning her, mocking her in its splendor.

"Park by the deliver station."

Everything had already been explained to her beforehand. The layout of the building to her mind like an intricate map of a battle field. Four bedrooms, open spacious living room, kitchen and a vast entertainment area flanked by two bathrooms. The vehicle dipped at her request, carrying them into the unground parking area, in sighting a blast of unexpected light, eviscerating the darkness that had briefly loomed ahead. It took her a second to realize they weren't under attack and no one else was waiting for them.

"Jumpy?" Buzzsaw asked, taking note of the bloodied knife in her hand.

"You could say that."

Gesturing to the small docking space—place she'd been told they'd offload our alcohol—she waited until he stopped and ordered him to get out and open the doors she'd asked them to leave unlocked. He hesitated, casting a final look at the wings, his pinched face speaking volumes of his need to stay with them. To be within their space. Leaning over while his back was to her, Maze removed the keys from the ignition and slipped them under the passenger seat.

She climbed out, following him onto the dock, and made a quick sweep inside to check that all was secure. By the time she returned, Buzzsaw ventured to the back of the vehicle and stood staring at the wings. This was the moment she needed. She delivered a hand blow to the back of head that made him bounce off the side of the car like an ill-thrown stone. She didn't catch him as he fell. She knew it would be simple enough to stab him in the back, to see the light dim from his eyes and be done with it – but where would she dispose of the body? Who else was he connected to?

There were things that needed tending to before she could do that. Satisfied he wouldn't be running—and there was no one to see her—Maze moved to collect Lucifer's wings first. Carefully carrying them upstairs to the penthouse and one of the less glamourous guest rooms. She returned fifteen minutes later to collect Lucifer; she set him down in one of the bedrooms with an ensuite, and ten minutes later collected their hostage. _Her_ hostage. She locked him in one of the other guest rooms until such a time she could decide what to do with him or how to deal with him.

It was only then, as the pressure of everything she'd experienced in the last hour began to dissipate and she was able to catch her breath that Mazikeen allowed herself to slowly ease to the floor. Unable to keep herself upright or to make sense of the strange and continued stinging behind her wet eyes.

* * *

After a while, she pushed up off the floor and stood, thankful there was still strength in her legs as she made her way to Lucifer's designated room. He was _still_ unmoving, bequeathing her the misleading appearance of a human death. Irony that wasn't lost on her. But for how long?

Taking a step back, she headed in search of a cloth and water. One item she found strewn on the edge of the kitchen sink and the other with a twist of one of the two silvery taps. She barely marveled at the magnificence of such an invention and found a bowl with which to capture of the liquid. She filled it halfway before returning to his wings. Maybe once she was done here, he'd be awake. Unlike the times she'd been forced to hold and carry it, Maze now worked on the sullied feathers as if they were breakable, gently wiping them clear of his blood, trying to return them to their former glory. Their intended glory. It pained and scared her how lifeless they now seemed. Still capable of dipping any human that lay their eyes on them in awe and holy rapture, they couldn't fool her keen gaze. The sad task took entirely too long and made her feel hollow inside, disconnected in a way she'd never ever taken into account when she agreed to come here.

Returning to the kitchen, Mazikeen rinsed the bowl, washed the remaining blood from her upper arms, and went back to Lucifer. His eyes were still closed, body chilled to the touch as she sat down on the mattress beside him. For a long time all she did was silently watch him, hopeful for a sign of consciousness and too afraid to check on the status of his open wounds. Were they healing? Would they ever heal? Or would it be easier to drag him back to the gate and thrust him into it? Considering his sacrifice, she doubted he'd appreciated the latter option.

Reaching into the bowl, she squeezed the excess water off the cloth. Lifting it to his forehead to wipe away the remnants of sand she'd missed, grains she noticed also clung to blood, she slowly worked her way down his body, determinedly cleansing him of their joint sin.

A flash of electricity shot through his nerves, setting them alight. Lucifer gasped, feeling his body jerk. And then, twin spears of blazing pain thrust into his shoulder-blades, spreading across his back and inserting itself into his spinal chord. He realized he was holding his breath and sucked one in, followed by a groan.

Maze expelled a weak gasp of her own and winced, surprised as he came alive beneath her scrubbing hand. Bewilderment that melded into relief. Dropping the cloth onto the mattress, she took a gentle hold of his shoulders, attempting to help him onto his side in order to remove of the pressure on his raw back.

The light was too bright when he tried to focus his vision. Maze's worried face saturated in front of him. He blinked, trying to breathe no matter the pain, and it was a challenge all by itself. Just continue breathing. For the first time he became aware of something heavy bursting through his ribcage from inside, like a panicking animal. The heart. It was painful, too. He groaned, tried to move, groaned louder, stilling to wait out a bout of throes in his back.

"G— Maze… wha— … what is happening to me… How can there be… so much pain? How… Why…"

Easing her legs beneath her body, Mazikeen rose herself up on her knees and hovered over him. The sheet stuck to his wounds, suctioned to the grotesque cuts like an ill-fitting dressing. Speedily she pressed a finger to the covered laceration, further shocked to find her finger-pad wet.

"You're not healing," she uttered, eyes fixed on the blood that stained her finger before they drifted to his anguish-filled face. He looked as if he might pass out again.

_What do I do?_

She'd never had to play battle medic to Lucifer before. _This_ had never happened.

She was touching him, shifting him, even, and Lucifer was foggily aware of it, but this touch was never like that first one he vaguely remembered as something out-of-this-world. Or rather out of the world he was used to.

These touches were painful as literal hell – one the human legends' sinners must be feeling. Letting out another groan, blinking as his head swam, he came to believe – not without bafflement – that he, one of the most radiant angels, couldn't handle.

"Dying…" Lucifer muttered, feeling the reality slipping away from him, more rapidly every other second, "This must be it… Maze… that legendary… human… death…"

Blackness swallowed him once again.

In another situation, Maze might have accused him of being dramatic. Death for even fallen angels wasn't possible. Then again, they weren't on home turf. There was a reason their kind wasn't welcome here – not in full-fledged form. Humans couldn't handle it. Or was it that _they_ couldn't handle it?

When he quietened and blacked out again, Maze kept him in place, stretching to make a grab for the two pillows on her side of the bed. Thrusting them against his chest, she propped him upon them and exposing his back to the elements. Collecting the cloth she'd dropped into the bowl, she climbed off the mattress and walked over to the other side, crouching beside him while his back was turned to her, wiping the drying blood from around his wounds, purposely avoiding the need to touch them.

"You're above a menial death," she said when he didn't stir again, eyes trained on the wounds and her hand that gently wiped away any evidence of his blood. "You're more important than that."

_If only he'd believe it._

Maze remained that way all night, eventually joining him on the edge of the mattress, one hand soothingly buried in his hair, the other refusing to relent in keeping him cleansed.

It would only be a matter of time before he woke up again—for good this time.

_And then I convince him to go. To see the error of his ways and let me take him back home._ _Back to what we know and have a medium of control over._


	2. Chapter 2

Maze watched him. Lucifer seemed tormented even in slumber, his brows drawn together as if he were locked in unrelenting battle. A first of many she couldn't fight for him and so desperately wanted to. Lifting her legs onto the mattress, she crossed them at the ankles and sat back against the headboard, disregarding the drops of water that marked her clothes. His blood was her blood. That was the way it had always been and the way it would always be.

Physical reality was shifting towards him like a dusty cloud full of strains and aches. It was still hard to breathe, as if there was someone sitting on his chest. When disorientation dissipated a little, Lucifer realized he was lying on his front, a couple of pillows under his chest, pressing into the ribcage. He felt stiff and weak. As soon as he tried to shift, two ragged knives drove into his shoulder-blades, pinning him down with a strangled groan he emitted.

_How am I going to get over this? Will I ever?_

It certainly didn't seem that way now. It felt as if he had been in pain for a few millenniums. His whole body hurt and there was nothing he could do about it. Their plan had seemed perfect and so well thought through, but they couldn't have planned for any of the truly physical, dense aspects. Even the most brilliant of minds cannot include the unknown in any strategy.

_I made a mistake. An unforgivable in its stupidity mistake. One I don't know how to fix._

One more attempt to move his arms and shift his strangling position ended in more pain and a groan he couldn't keep in. That constant nagging pain with occasional stabs resulting in his attempts to move was quite unnerving and made his head swim again. No matter how he tried to push it away, despair was creeping closer. For the first time in his existence, Lucifer didn't know how to proceed.

Hours passed before he stirred, dragging her gaze from the rising sun she'd imagined—if things had gone differently this night—they'd have experienced together. He'd have appreciated it.

_Dawn of a new day._ _New life._

When he shifted, trying to move, Maze gave him the space to do so as his scars hadn't skinned over. The bleeding, however, seemed to slow to a manageable flow.

"We should go back" she stated, rounding the bottom of the bed to make her way to the other side again, crouching so that she was at his eye level and he didn't have to strain to see her. There was no time for pleasantries, for working through the small steps or trying to pretend things weren't grave. She didn't know how long or if he'd pass out on her again. She wanted to make sure she had his permission before she did something drastic – something she doubted he'd forgive her for – and was becoming increasingly more worthy of risk.

He almost started at the sound of Maze's voice, and it scared him momentarily how out of tune with his senses he was. Her presence eluded him. It was impossible.

_Maybe that's the major lure of the three-dimensional game: the impossible is happening here with stunning regularity._

Despite the cold hand of despair squeezing one of his sore shoulders, Maze's suggestion annoyed him.

"We can't. I can't. There is no back for me." He gave a pained laugh, unable to ignore the pan. "Literally, as well."

She knew he'd be stubborn—he always was—but there was no way she would allow his pride to compromise his safety any more than it already had. They'd taken this too far!

"You're not thinking clearly," she hissed, balling her hands into fists, needing to inflict and replicate the anguish he was quite clearly still suffering. "I can't help you here." She detested the sense of helpless that enveloped her and the accompanying sting behind her eyes. "You're bleeding, Lucifer. You've been bleeding since I—"

She couldn't say it, couldn't find the words to describe what they'd done without feeling as though her chest would be split wide open.

Maze was not amused, Lucifer deduced. Moreover, she seemed angry, which was strange to him. It was a complicated task to think and analyze when all he wanted to do was let the dark numbness have him once again. Now that he studied her face, he noticed her eyes were red. It was strange just the same. He'd never seen anything like that in her. If he didn't know her – if she were someone else, someone human – he'd say it was… fear?

"Since the beach," she finished. "It's been hours."

He thought about it for a long moment. Bleeding… It was the last thing he expected to befall him. It was unreal. Impossible – again. Deep down he understood why she was making herself crazy over it – he would feel the same had they traded places – but since it was _his_ place, Lucifer found he wasn't seeing it in quite the same light.

"I guess it had to be expected," he remarked, refraining from a shrug. "We had to dress in flesh to be here, and so my wings were no longer what they used to be. It was silly of me to believe it would go with lesser consequences. It'll have to pass, or… well, then we'll see, right?" He smiled meekly, closing his eyes.

"You're joking. You expect me to sit by and watch while you suffer?" If Lucifer believed she'd do that, then he didn't know her quite as well as she thought he did. "I'm taking you back. It was stupid to come here to begin with, rash, even—"

She almost said it again, almost voiced her wretched crime.

"We're not meant to be here. This place isn't made for us. Can't you see that?" She crawled onto the edge of the bed, taking a hold of his shoulders to shake him. He needed to see reason, to look at her and make her believe he knew what he was condemning himself to.

Her hands grasping his shoulders made him snap his eyes open, glaring at her. Lucifer was incapable of doing as she asked, and it made him angry that she had to push it now. He hated to voice his reasoning. It was soaked with humiliation of defeat and disgrace.

He swallowed, setting his eyes on hers, once again noticing the red in them. "You don't understand, do you? Just like this world – as you say – isn't made for us, where we came from is no longer made for me. I can't go back, Maze. Not like this. I threw my key away."

Searing guilt overcame him as soon as he spoke it out and understood what it meant for her. He felt something burning in his eyes and his urge to turn them away from her in shame.

"Forgive me, Mazikeen. I failed us both."

Alien discernment shot through Maze as their eyes met, stare she strained to maintain and hadn't seen on his face before. Sense that took a lot of effort to shake off.

Unconsciously holding his breath, Lucifer waited for her reaction, almost wishing she would vent and pour her own desperation on him. But then, a smile touched her lips, a smile of graceful forgiveness, and it unsettled him. Did she not see what he meant?

"Don't think you can take all the credit," she reasoned, lessening her hold on his shoulders. He'd suffered enough. "I'm here too, you know?"

No, no, it's not the same, he wanted to scream. _I've locked you here with me!_

Neither of them was guiltless. Easing off the mattress, she slowly ambled to the other side to inspect his back, to see if the bleeding had stopped now that he was conscious.

"Maybe some fresh air will serve in helping the healing processes?"

He hemmed bitterly and closed his eyes again. "I can't even fathom to move. I want that oblivion back. It probably felt better."

"Possibly," she agreed, even though the deep-set frown on his face while he dozed had said otherwise. "But you've been stuck in that oblivion for longer than my sanity is willing to accept. You need to move, to get up and take advantage of the sunrise."

Though the sun had already risen, sprinkling flecks of pink and orange across the sky, becoming brighter and less enchanting with every minute. This, she knew, was the beginning of what they referred to as day.

He made a faint sound of protest, keeping his eyes closed.

"You want to feel the sun on your face, don't you?"

Crawling onto the edge of the mattress, she extended a hand and rested it against his naked hip in offering.

Her touch was soft on his skin. Despite the pains lacing through his body, it gave a pleasant quiver, reminding him of the first one on the beach. Doing as she asked, however, he had no intention at all.

"Sunrise," he repeated dumbly. "Who cares about sunrise? I don't want to feel anything because all those things I do feel right now are too much as it is. Just leave me be and go enjoy your sunrise."

Maze removed her hand from his nude hip and climbed off the bed. If Lucifer refused to move, she would have to do the next best thing. Tugging at the thick drapes that hung over what she assumed were windows, she allowed sunlight to spill into the room, swathing the bed he was occupying in welcome light. Brighter than she was used to or even cared for.

"You came here to experience human life," she began, perching herself against the windowsill, arms outstretched at her sides, mocking resemblance of divinity. "Bearing in mind your rocky start, stubborn wounds and the unknown ahead, you need to see what you came for." It might not have been the landscape, but it was as good a reward as any.

She was talking, and he registered her words, but their meanings slipped away as soon as she moved on to the next sentence. Lucifer felt the oblivion closing in. He was welcoming it with all my being.

"So?" she asked, ambling toward the bed with purpose. "Are you going to let me help you up and get some fresh air or am I going to be forced to get rough?"

My mind stumbled over it, and with growing dread, he felt the oblivion slow down if not retreating slowly.

"Please, Maze, leave me alone," he groaned. "How many please would it take? Or perhaps I should add an I-beg-you?"

In spite of our calamitous situation and the fact that his eyes threatened to roll into the back of his head, her smile widened, a genuine fixture as she stopped beside the bed.

"Save the begging for later," Maze said, softening her tone, cushioning the discomfort she knew was going to come as she closed her hands around his wrists and forced him into a sitting position. Sliding her arms around his waist, careful to avoid the wounds, she left him little room to argue as she began to shuffle him toward the edge of the mattress. "Besides, I'm sure you could do with a drink of some kind."

A breath-taking throe exploded all over his back, Lucifer cried out and glared at Maze. She was grinning, and it angered him. He had an urge to push her embracing arms away, and even hurt her as she pulled to make him get up and satisfy her whim.

He grabbed her wrists and threw them off him, gnashing his teeth in pain spilling over his back and seeping into his chest. Maze jerked from the force of his rejection as he ripped her hands from around his waist with strength she'd been unprepared for.

"What I really could do with is a little respect for what I want!" he yelled, glaring. Without her arms' support, he fell back on the mattress and cried out from its impact with his raw wounds. "Just leave! I don't want anything. I want you to leave me the hell alone!"

Without a word, she turned her back on him, pushing down the ire and crushing want to help him back into position.

"Suit yourself," she retorted.

"I certainly will," he whispered, gathering his will to shift himself into a more comfortable position, if it was even possible. It took a hell of an effort and a lot of stabbing pain, including his groans muffled by his wounded pride. Blood stained the sheets beneath him, but Lucifer preferred to close his eyes on it and forget. Imagination tried to paint him a colorful picture of what was going on with his back, but he took a few deep breaths, casting the images away. Exhaustion soon took its toll, and oblivion accepted him into its gentle arms.

Walking out into the parlor and over to the furthest stool at the bar counter, Maze settled there, facing the archway between the decorative columns offering a direct view of the bed, hands tidily rested in her lap in defeat. All she had to do now was watch and wait for him to summon her again. And he would – in time.

* * *

Time appeared to pass at a maddening rate, accompanied by an unacquainted weariness that threatened to overwhelm her during her surveillance. Now that things had quietened down again, Maze couldn't help but reflect on how disconcerting it was to see Lucifer like this. In their many millennia together, he'd never been this fragmented. He might have believed that he'd failed her, but the truth was she failed him and in turn broke her oath. Protection that now seemed meaningless. She'd spent so much time safeguarding him from demons, invasive forces threatening to destroy the harmony of their exultant functionality and even at times himself, when in reality, she should have been protecting him from herself.

She needed to take her mind off things. She needed to do her job. Rising off the couch, Maze ambled over the metallic box perched in the corner of what she had been told was the kitchen. Freezer, they'd called it. Or was it fringe? Fig? The detail was insignificant and dismissed as soon as it cropped up. Opening the door as she'd seen the merchant do all those months ago, she scanned the goods inside, having requested long before her recent return that everything be up to par with human living. She wanted it all.

Seemed they'd kept up their end of the deal – If only she could say the same. Which reminded her: her newfound prisoner still hadn't woken up, maybe she'd hit him to hard? Killed him?

_I'll check later._

Mazikeen scanned a few items and removed one or two from inside the chilled box, popping off the lid to sniff the contents, surprised by her stomach's immediate reaction. She guessed she was hungry.

She set the container down, disregarding its lid as she dipped the tip of her index into the thick yellowish matter. It parted with ease, reminding her of curative paste or mud. Lifting the soiled and slicked finger, she sniffed it, smoothed of the cream and gave it a tentative lick, establishing that the taste wasn't all that bad. Helping herself to a bigger serving, she stuffed more of the paste into her mouth, eyeing the name, repeating the word BUTTER as if expecting it to make sense. Lucifer might know more.

Growing tired of the taste, she moved onto the next item. Pickles, cheese, carrot sticks and a variety of other foodstuffs that she was beginning to believe didn't mesh well together. Bored of the activity, she marched away from the fridge, not bothering to return the items to their previous setting and instead helped herself to some water. Drinking straight from the source, one hand cupped beneath the provided steam to catch any spillage.

Former compulsion seemed to descend upon her as things slowed down again, laden with another feeling that made her stomach church and her throat convulse as she swallowed back the mixture of foods.

Reclaiming her former position on the couch, Maze lifted her legs onto the table centered in front of her and closed her eyes. Willing the suffocating queasiness to pass.

It didn't, not for a long time, not until she'd unknowingly yielded to the tug of oblivion.

* * *

She woke to the unfamiliar chime of the elevator doors, surprised upon opening her eyes, to see someone standing within the penthouse vestibule. A woman. She looked angry.

"Where is he?!" the visitor commanded, blonde hair pulled into a messy bun, a piece of wood clutched in her shaky hands.

How she'd gotten into the building? How had she known they were here? And how would Maze remedy a walkthrough of their security? This wouldn't happen again.

"ANSWER ME!" the woman cried, swinging the piece of wood, sending the decorative vase that had been resting against the wall on a collision course with the floor. It shattered upon impact, making her flinch.

Maze slipped her legs off the table and stood, watching as she backtracked, maintaining distance between them. Overlooking her demands, Maze stopped to observe her outfit. Black jeans, similarly dark shirt and something intricate around her waist. Chain? She _liked_ it. More so than the loose fitting cloth that currently adorned her figure.

"Who are you looking for?" Maze asked, eyes darting to meet the visitor's freighted yet determined gaze.

"Don't play stupid with me, bitch!"

"Bitch?" she'd heard that term before. Reference she knew belonged to an animal and made little sense now.

"I know he's here! He texted me!"

Maze shrugged, making no move to discredit her findings or ask what she meant by text. Loud banging cut into the picture, heavy pounding on the door she'd settled Buzzsaw in earlier.

_Ah, so that's who she is here for._

Immediately the woman reacted, charging down the passageway, one hand jiggling the key in the lock, struggling with holding onto her weapon and the basic task of unlocking the door. Charging after her—taking advantage of her panic—Maze delivered a blow to the side of her head. The woman staggered from the door by the force of Maze's hit, dropping her weapon in favor of cradling her throbbing head, and ejected a doleful sound of discomfort.

"Disappointing," Mazikeen mused, irritated by the short-lived combat and means of release. She could have done with a little more carnage. Bending, she picked up the wood off the floor, taking note of its humble curves, a small smile creeping onto her lips as she tested the weight and swung it within her direction. "What is this?"

The woman stared at her fearfully, her lips upturned into a grimace, shaky fingers pressed to the split above her left eye. For a time it was a battle of wills, of understanding and confusion.

"It's a bat," she asked when she comprehended Maze was being serious, that her interest stemmed further than stupidity and more as a thirst for knowledge.

"TRISH! TRISH!" Buzzsaw cried from behind the door, voice muffled by the shuddering wood.

Giving the key and doorknob a proficient twist, Maze speedily kicked it open, watching with satisfaction as the man reeled back from the unanticipated force and landed on his ass. Momentarily reminded as he glared up at her, startled and angry, of the time she'd spent in Ijirynn taming boisterous demonic entities.

_Maybe our time on earth could have a few perks._

"Well, now," Maze began, using the front of the bat to point at the two in question, perching herself against the doorway. "You've surprised me. And that rarely happens. Question is, what am I going to do about it and how am I going to prevent it from happening again?"

Neither spoke up, their eyes instinctively darting to one another in confusion.

_Fun_.

Pushing away from the doorframe, Maze moved to help the woman off the floor, grabbing her by the hair, dragging her a few steps until she'd stood and Maze shoved her into the room with her accomplice. The woman rushed to him immediately, falling to her knees beside him to inspect the dark blue lump peeking from beneath his short black hair.

"Now, which one of you will be the first to tell me what I need to know?"

More silence.

"Perfect," Maze said and grinned, moving to step into the room behind them, swinging the door shut behind her so that they wouldn't attempt another run for it. "Just what I need."

* * *

Lucifer heard hysterical screams that cut through his dreamless sleep like lashes. They lifted him to the surface of awakening, and the loud noise of something shattering had his eyes snap open. There was someone else in the parlor – a woman screaming at Maze. He tried to turn his head to look, but a spear of pain through his back stalled him, and then he didn't care anymore. After a little while, both Maze and the intruder left, and once again, the penthouse drowned in silence.

He attempted to sleep, but discovered he was too thirsty. His tongue all but caked to the roof of his mouth with not a drop of moisture around. Grunting in pain and partial annoyance – Maze could have left him a glass of water instead of riding him about stupid things he couldn't change – Lucifer managed off the bed and went for the first door he found. A huge mirror met him in the bathroom. It startled him; he wasn't used to seeing himself. Back in their home realms, they had self-awareness – they knew what energy they carried and how it radiated. What humans had here with mirrors could be fascinating had it been a different moment.

What looked back at him from the silvery surface was misery. The wounds on his back stung as though reminding him of his disgrace. He couldn't bear to see what was left of him, and at the same time there was a morbid urge to peek at the cuts. Guilt, disgust and despair twirled around within his soul in a dance macabre.

_What have I done? I have stupidly, stubbornly destroyed everything sacred in myself, and for what? For a whim. For a childishly rash impulse. And now I'm cursed and shunned and turned willingly to dirt. The Fall it is, indeed._

Shame crushed its stormy waves through him, racking and breaking everything in its wake. If he couldn't even look himself in the eyes, how would he return? Maze didn't understand, she couldn't. She kept herself whole, and he… he…

Keeping his gaze down, Lucifer turned on the taps, drank hungrily a few handfuls of water, then went back to his bed stained with worst of sins. He closed his eyes not to see it, but his soul stared on, and writhed restlessly.


	3. Chapter 3

Emerging from the guest room thirty minutes later, closing and locking the door behind her, Maze had two devices in hand—things they'd said were called cellphones and used to communicate amongst humans—the bat resting against the crook of her shoulder like a beloved newborn, speckled with a bit of blood and mucus. Appreciatively they'd been resistant, filled with fight, and had given her a bit of release she needed to eject the day's difficulties. Forgoing the leather chair—and Lucifer's wishes—she rejoined him.

The sound of the elevator doors sliding open and closed pulled him from a light doze, and Maze's footfalls anchored him back in the land of the bleak reality Lucifer wished to escape. He shifted slightly, got the painful response he expected, and stilled again with his back to the parlor. He closed his eyes hoping Maze would leave him be. She didn't this time.

Setting the cellphones down on the mattress and the bat against the foot of the bed, Maze reached for the filthy water bowl.

"We've a problem," she began as she put the bowl down on the bedside table, gradually stripping off the bloodied sundress. She needed to bathe, soak her muscles and rinse herself of last night, but that could wait. Dropping the flimsy fabric to the floor, she exchanged it for black jeans and shirt she'd stolen off the cooperative blonde. They were snug, clinging to her legs like a second skin, accentuating her hips and other areas as Maze caught sight of herself in the full-length mirror. Admiration she pushed aside as she waited for him to speak.

He kept quiet, still hoping it would drive her away and knowing it wouldn't.

"You were right about your wings," she said, driving a painful nail into his heart without knowing it, as she slid onto the mattress, tucking one leg beneath her, the other dangling over the side of the edge as she twisted to face him.

He winced unwittingly, remembering his reflection and its misery. He wasn't prepared to talk about it. He didn't know if he ever would be. He felt like a cripple whose life was over by his own doing. He didn't want to think of anything ever again.

"Even in its free form, it seems to possess some kind of power," she continued. "Our ride from the beach is quite taken by them."

Lucifer felt cold inside. The sensation was so sudden and real it felt he would exhale vapor.

_She still has my wings._

It flabbergasted him how this idea never crossed his mind that what he made her cut off was still around and quite real. Was it? Of course it was – she did cut them off, so there was something solid to cut, and it felt…

_Agony, hellish agony was exactly what you deserved for such crime, and it felt like you deserved._

But having never actually seen them apart from feeling their power and radiance as the extension of what he had always been, he found the thought of them being two pieces of dying flesh – or dead flesh – terrifying. Sacrilege.

A shiver ran through him; he swallowed hard, trying to cast away the racing thoughts and disgusting images. It didn't work. He felt Maze sitting on the edge of his bed, watching him, and couldn't make himself look at her.

If they were going to stay here, Maze reflected, well, she was going to have to further take things into her hands, find means of healing him—with her prisoner's help—and get settled in properly.

"I couldn't let him leave. _Them_ leave," she concluded, hopeful he'd get the hint without her needing to go into too much detail. "He invited someone over. A lover."

Drawing a deeper breath as if to vent the imposing reveries and fears away, he gave her a sharp look, unable to believe what she seemed to be insinuating. Afraid to believe his damage to what she was extended farther than he thought.

"What the bloody hell do you mean? What did you do? You murdered humans?"

Despite his pain, his look was agitated, perhaps even a little murderous. Maze'd felt that heat before. She craved it, more so than the broken image he'd presented over the last couple hours. Seeing him like that was disconcerting. Maybe he was feeling better? Steadily on his way to recovery?

"No," she answered, not one to toy with the truth or keep him in suspense. She had too much respect for his suffering and could see even a hint of amusement would be misplaced at this time. "Granted I didn't take it easy on them during my cross-examination. But they're still very much alive. Kicking a little, too." It could have gone a whole other direction – still might. "Nevertheless, that doesn't help our dilemma or the raging 'what do I do with them now' question that needs answering. You're aware of what demons are like in the presence of your grace, Imagine that magnified by a hundred."

She eased off the bed to give him a little time to think and process the information as she walked over to the kitchen. With the open plan layout of the loft he could still see her. Grabbing one of the glasses from the cupboard overhead, she filled it with some water.

Lucifer heard water run – she was filling a glass. He felt thirsty again, but that need was overruled by Maze's extracurricular mission he wasn't counting on. A part of him was stirred and agitated by her news, and the other still didn't want to care. So what if she threw a couple of humans around? So what if she got rough – how he knew she could and liked to get? It didn't seem to matter. Nothing seemed to matter.

"Just let them go," he said, closing his eyes. "The last thing I want is you creating more problems than you can solve. It's not your precious home here. Your methods should change. Go back to them and fix it. And by fix it I mean an amiable fix."

"You've got to be kidding," she said, gently tapping his nude chest with the bottom of the glass, trying to gauge if he were giving into unconsciousness or simply too tired to look at her.

He accepted the glass, wincing as he lifted himself a bit from the mattress, and drank half of it in a couple of eager swigs.

"They'll scream angel as they run down the street. Or worse," knowing that man was already having a hard time letting go, seeing the wings were like an imperial drug; they tended to suck you in, to feed on your mind like a decaying plague of hope. Most demons couldn't handle it, and from what she gathered in the collective hours she'd spent babysitting the infuriating man, humans would insight chaos. Lucifer hadn't seen it, didn't understand that yet.

He would.

"They'll come back. They'll come with an army," she continued, unrelenting in her attempt to make him see the bigger picture, warning laced with displeasure. Though the blonde hostage appeared a less likely threat since she hadn't seen his wings, Maze didn't doubt that her accomplice would attempt to talk her into returning. Love in humans made them do strange things. Or so she heard. Given the status of Lucifer's fragile safety, Maze wasn't eager about needing to look over their shoulders at every turn. They were already on unstable ground. "What do I do then? Kindly tone down my methods and ask them to leave?"

He put the empty glass on the bedstand and gauged her expression. She was serious. It almost made him laugh, despite himself. She wasn't too keen on all the details of human life – that was mostly his hobby to pay attention to the ascending worlds.

Wincing, he lay back again and clicked his tongue, closing his eyes. "Let them come. Let's see what happens. An army, you say? I doubt he finds more than two willing participants max. You overestimate their ability to trust each other's empty words. He will talk about what he saw for years and hardly anyone will view him as anything more than a crazy zealot. You can let them go. You can even give them some generous sum for a promise to keep away from us. That can works as well – at least for his friend who hasn't seen anything holier than your anger."

Maze narrowed her eyes, vexed by Lucifer's unruffled demeanor in regards to the stowed humans or the threat they presented, battling the unacquainted urge to rebel and defy.

"Fine," she answered with resignation, unable to shake the condemnation from her tone. "I hope you're right." They didn't always agree, but his word and wisdom—in spite of her brewing qualms—was what she lived by. Not because she had to, because she chose to and he'd never steered her wrong.

Not until today.

"I'll see what I can come up as a form of compensation and get them out of here," she added, throwing a look over her shoulder at the bed as she started for the fridge. Removed the tub of fingered butter. It wasn't the worst and a possible start as most miscreants jumped at the prospect of a foods trade.

Was this world any different? She guessed she'd find out.

Unlocking the guest bedroom, she pushed the door open with her toe, confident the couple wouldn't be hanging around to club her. Limitations already met. Martin stood first and shielded the blonde. His left eye swollen shut, his bottom lip split from the impact of Maze's harrowed persuasion, hands raised in weak attempt to insinuate his willingness to fight. Maze could respect that, and at another time, might have accepted his challenge.

She took a couple steps deeper into the room and dropped the butter bowl onto the bed. "Take it and go."

Confusion and doubt reflected on Martin's bruised face, the frightened woman's eyes darting to her peace offering with equal bewilderment. Martin was the first to move, eyes locked on Maze as he moved to pick up the tub, snapping open the lid to check its contents.

"Butter?" he asked, his voice no louder than a murmur. Maze nodded. He stared.

"Reward for upholding your part of the bargain and getting us to our humble abode," Maze explained before he could ask, flashing a smile, unable to keep up this civil charade. She wanted them gone. A gesture to the door and she stepped aside, making space for them to head out.

"You promised me possessions," Buzzsaw said with a wince, his features contorting as if the mere task of talking was too much. " _Anything_ I wanted."

The blonde's hand found its way onto his shoulder, squeezing in attempt to shut him up and guide him to their exit. Her lithe body pressing against his back. He wasn't getting any of the subtle signs.

"Then you'll have to take it up with Lucifer at another time," Maze stated coolly, eyes blazing, arms trembling at her sides, itching to swell his other eye shut.

"Another time? But you promis—"

Maze crossed the space and appeared an inch from his face. On instinct he stepped back, colliding with the blonde, waylaying her against the wall like a frightened bird, his hands raised to shield his face from a crushing blow. Maze caught the plastic container before it hit the floor.

"If you knew me," she began, straightening up, eyes glued to the label printed on the bowl, idly memorizing its ingredients while they watched her, "you'd know how hard it is for me to do this. To let you walk out of here - alive. And know that you'll come back and try to stir trouble."

Martin paled, lower lip quivering as if he were dealing with a sudden case of the chills. The blonde wasn't faring any better, although in her case, the lack of clothes might be a factor.

"We wo—"

"Don't lie to me, Buzz," Maze retorted, cutting short his promise to stay away. "You'll be back. You've seen it. You need it now. Need what only _it_ can provide you."

He wanted to argue, to reassure her he wouldn't return and barter his safety, but she knew, could sense it in the way his body tensed every time she instructed him to leave, that he was in deep.

"So, for your sake I suggest you acquaint yourself with the idea that you'll never get your hands on it— on them," she deliberated, reaching out to gently take one hand, smirking as he flinched and tried to resist her touch. "Not unless you want to keep yours."

She wrestled his arm from his face, slapping the sullied tub back into his furled hands—waiting for him to take it—eyes locked on his face in warning before she slowly took a step back.

"Now get out before I decide that you should stay."

"Go," the blonde hissed before Martin could argue or say something else, pushing at his back, unruffled by her state of undress as she forced him toward the exit. He went, head bent as Maze followed them out, neither asking about their cellphones as she escorted them into the elevator and to the ground floor.

She locked up after they left and made her way upstairs, clutching a bottle labelled whiskey, toying with the end of the ribbon tied around the neck. Generic 'welcome to your new home' card stapled to the shiny fabric.

"More water?" she asked stepping into the loft, pausing to hear if he was still awake or if he'd passed out again while she took care of the prisoners.


End file.
